


The Legend of the Turkey Shirt

by curtaincall



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3596526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtaincall/pseuds/curtaincall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What?” said Jake again, and leaned in, putting his face up right next to Amy’s. “More. Details. I need to know every single detail of how you had sex in a shirt with a turkey on it.”</p><p>Jake's birthday present is a memento from Amy's dorky past.<br/>Based on a really weird dream I had...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Legend of the Turkey Shirt

Amy had let the story slip, oh, years ago, one of the first times she’d been drunk with the rest of the Nine-Nine. Rosa had just finished describing every single way she knew to kill a man with her bare hands, and there was a moment of silence while everybody silently freaked out.

The silence was broken by Amy giggling to herself, “Turkey shirt.”

“What did you say?” Jake asked, seeming to sense immediately that there was something good here.

“Turkey shirt,” murmured Amy again. “It’s so big, you know. The turkey shirt.”

“Tell me about the turkey shirt, Santiago,” said Jake. “Is it a shirt for a turkey? No, wait, that makes unfortunately little sense. Is it a shirt shaped like a turkey? Is it a shirt made out of turkey, Lady Gaga meat-dress style?” (That was an extremely current reference, at the time; that was how long ago it was that Amy had first told the story of the turkey shirt.)

“Heh,” said Amy, “no, it’s a shirt with a turkey on it. Like, a picture. It’s, uh, it’s super big, and super unflattering, and I wore it the night I lost my virginity.”

“What?” said Jake again, and leaned in, putting his face up right next to Amy’s. “More. Details. I need to know every single detail of how you had sex in a _shirt with a turkey on it_.”

“Well,” said Amy, who was sobering up enough to speak clearly, but not enough to realize how terrible of an idea it was to be telling this story to Cannot-Keep-A-Secret Peralta, “it was prom night. Senior year of high school.”

“Even better.”

“I went with Allen...oh, what was his last name? Allen Yellen, that was it.”

“You went to prom with a guy whose name rhymed? Holy crap, Santiago, you’re even nerdier than I thought!”

“He was the debate team captain,” Amy said defensively. “He was very smart. He went to, like, Cornell or something, okay? He was an _intellectual_. Anyway, uh, at the prom, he kind of spilled root beer on me. And I was wearing a white dress, so it stained. So Allen and I went up to his room at the hotel, and he gave me the T-shirt that he’d packed to wear the next morning, and it had a turkey on it. And, well, Allen was...he was kind of overweight, and tall, and the shirt was really big on me. But we ended up having sex, that night, in the hotel room, and I was wearing the turkey shirt. And afterwards I wore it home, because my dress was still stained, and I never remembered to give it back to him. I guess I could have thrown it out, but, like, it’s kind of a trophy, you know? So I still have it.”

“You still have the turkey T-shirt you were wearing when you lost your virginity?” Jake asked, incredulous and impressed (and, Amy would have noticed if she’d been a little less drunk, aroused).

“Yeah.”

“That’s so lame,” said Gina, and the conversation drifted onto other things.

Amy had forgotten she’d told the story, the next day, until Jake had shown up and whispered “turkey shirt” in her ear, while McGinley was giving the briefing.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” she muttered, “I said that?”

“You said a lot of things,” Jake replied, grinning.

“Turkey shirt” lasted as ammunition for the next few months, whenever Santiago got too full of herself or competitive; all it took was three syllables from Peralta to remind her of just how uncomfortable it was that all her coworkers knew that about her.

As time went on, though, Jake got more dirt on Amy, better dirt, and Amy got equal amounts of dirt on Jake, and “turkey shirt” was mostly forgotten, except, of course, around Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And that time the poultry aisle of the grocery store got robbed.

*

More than five years later, though, Amy was three months into a romantic relationship with Jake and totally, completely unsure of what to get him for his birthday.

“Edible underwear,” said Gina.

“Swiss Army knife,” said Rosa.

“Wash his hair for him,” said Boyle.

“Anything that comes from the heart,” said Terry.

“I really don’t think this is an appropriate discussion for the two of us to be having, Detective Santiago,” said Holt.

“Right, yes, of course, sir,” said Amy, abashed, and moved to leave his office.

“But,” Holt continued, and she stopped in her tracks, “I think you should get him something that he’ll like. Not something that you think you would like, or that you think a boyfriend would like. Something that you know that Jake Peralta specifically wants.”

And, in more sober tones than the ones she’d used that night in the bar, Amy once again muttered to herself, “Turkey shirt.”

*

She was sitting on top of her bed, the lights dimmed to the scientifically most flattering level, a candle burning on the dressing table. She heard Jake’s footsteps in the hallway, then his voice: “Hey, Ames, where are you?”

“In here,” she said, trying to pitch her voice at a sexy low rasp and not a shrill squeak.

He came into the room and stood in the doorway, squinting. “Why’re the lights so low? I can barely see you!”

“Okay, well, push the thingie up, then, you know where it is!”

Jake pushed the thingie up, and the lights came on all the way, and his eyes went wide at the sight of Amy. “Oh my God,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah,” said Amy, grinning at the look of surprise and delight on his face. “It’s the turkey shirt.”

Jake crossed the room in a few wide leaps and bounced onto the bed next to her. “Wait...no,” he said, quickly, and pulled his head back. “I need to take this in big-picture. This is the same exact shirt, property of…”

“Allen Yellen.”

“Property of Allen Dorkiest-Name-Ever Yellen, which you, Amy Santiago, wore on the night you lost your virginity.”

“Wore _while_ I lost my virginity. This and nothing else.”

“Oh yeah?” asked Jake, interested. “What about now?”

“I’m wearing underwear, Jake,” Amy said, slightly exasperated. “I tried not to, but the duvet was all scratchy on my butt and I didn’t want to get all, you know, chafed. So I’m wearing underwear.” This speech did not come across as sexily as she might have hoped, so she added, hastily, and in a lower tone, “But, that means you get to remove it.”

“O _kay_ ,” said Jake, enthusiastically, and moved in closer to her again, this time to kiss her.

After a moment, though, he broke away and looked down again at what she was wearing, and began giggling uncontrollably. “Turkey shirt!”

“I thought you’d like it,” she said, not sure whether to laugh with him or be disappointed at her gift’s failure.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jake asked, incredulous. “I freakin’ love it. It’s super dorky, just like you, and plus the turkey looks _hella_ stoned. This is by far the best present you could possibly have given me, and I have absolutely no clue how anything I can give you will come even close to topping this.”

“It’s not a competition.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. “Ames, it’s you and me. _Everything_ ’s a competition.”

She had to admit that was kind of true.

“But anyway,” Amy said, wrapping her hands around Jake’s neck, “weren’t we in the middle of something?”

And then she was unbuttoning his shirt, and he was caressing her thigh, and a pile slowly accumulated on the floor next to the bed, a pile with Jake’s jeans and Amy’s underwear and Jake’s boxers and, on top, the turkey shirt.

“Happy birthday, Peralta,” whispered Amy, later that night, right before falling asleep, curved around Jake, wearing only the turkey shirt.

**Author's Note:**

> Amy losing her virginity to the debate team captain on prom night is a headcanon I created for "Truth or Dare," the first Jake/Amy fic I ever wrote, so this belongs in the same universe, I guess.


End file.
